Collected Untitled
by inalasahl
Summary: Collected untitled stories of less than one thousand words in length.
1. Untitled Drabble 1

Disclaimer: Firefly and its characters belong to Twentieth Century FOX, Joss Whedon and a long corporate chain of folk. It (and they) do not belong to me. I'm just playing.  
Archive: Do not archive without permission.

Notes: Written for the ff_friday drabble community weekly challenge on live journal. The community allows works to be up to 1000 words long. That week's theme was childhood. 

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" the teacher says, and Inara remembers. 

She remembers answering the door. "Inara," her mother scolded, as she walked up behind her. "I told you not to open the door without ask—" Mother had stared and grabbed Inara so hard that she could hardly breathe. 

The stranger at the door had taken off his hat. "He fell, ma'am." 

She remembers being patted on the head a lot. Her mother looked lost and tried not to cry as she thanked people for coming. Inara tried to put her arms around her, but Aunt Lin stopped her. "Don't bother your mother now, dear. Come into the bedroom, I'll brush your hair." 

Aunt Lin sat on the bed and Inara on the floor. The brush swept gently through the tangled hair. Aunt Lin's hands were gentle even as they began to shake. At first, Inara thought that she was crying. Aunt Lin's breath was warm against her ear. "You look so much like my brother," she had said. Even in anger her voice was soft. "I hope you never have to work for anyone but yourself." 

She remembers Aunt Lin's bruises. Inara and her mother walked her to the ship that would take her far away to the rim where her husband would never find her. "You should come with me," Lin had said. Inara's mother shook her head and shivered with fear of the unknown. "Why would anyone ever leave Sihnon?" 

She remembers the Festival. Tourists from all over the Alliance. Companions in silk with easy smiles, laughing that they had eaten too much. The long hours her mother worked at the factory bought just one plump dim sum for the two of them to share. 

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" the teacher asks again. Inara remembers and opens her mouth: "Independent," she says. 

The End 


	2. Untitled Drabble 2

Disclaimer: Firefly and its characters belong to Twentieth Century FOX, Joss Whedon and a long corporate chain of folk. It (and they) do not belong to me. I'm just playing.  
Archive: Do not archive without permission.

Notes: Written for the ff_friday drabble community weekly challenge on live journal. The community allows works to be up to 1000 words long. That week's challenge was first kiss. 

Alliance Cruiser Qixi Jie wasn't a prestigious post or even an exciting one, but Gideon felt it suited him just fine. His CO was an easy person to work for, yet Gideon was learning a lot from her. Gideon didn't even mind that he'd been assigned to monitor the off-hours cortex traffic. Most of the crew thought it was a boring job on a boring ship. Gideon could have told them that it could be a lot more exciting than you'd ever want. 

He recognized her right off, though it was a terrible picture. A stranger might think she looked cold and blank. But River still had the same long, dark hair and Gideon knew just how soft and silky it felt. Her eyes were the same. A bit more haunted maybe, but Gideon thought they still sparkled. In person, River's eyes were deep and bright like the crystal pools of Beaumonde. The kind of eyes that had something new to say every day. He knew that, because he'd watched her long before they'd ever talked. There was no reason for the gardener's son to talk to the daughter of the house. No reason until the day he'd burned his arm with a bottle of Lucky Kill herbicide and pest spray. 

"What in the gorram verse is in this ruttin stuff?" he'd said. He'd heard a voice behind him. "Cloransulam-methyl, Lithium Perfluorooctane Sulfonate, N-Methylneode—" 

"What?" he'd said and turned to find River grinning at him. 

"You should wash that," she'd said. 

After that, they'd talked in snatches. By unspoken agreement, they ignored each other when they could be seen by others. Gideon had thought River was pretty, but he learned that she was smart too. When Gideon was with River, the world was a bigger place. 

Gideon saw River for the last time a few days before she left for the academy. He had never told her how much he enjoyed their friendship, how much he liked her. Gideon had never been a big talker, but suddenly his mind was full of words. He tried, but they simply wouldn't move past the lump in his throat. He'd reached out instead and touched her hair. She leaned into his hand for a moment. Then she'd smiled, lifted herself up and kissed him. 

It was her first kiss. His too. More importantly, it was theirs. It was soft and sweet and lasted only the space of a heartbeat. "I'll write," she'd said. She had. Gideon got one perfect letter about the campus and her room, the dance studio and the laboratory. His parents were furious, worried about losing the job at the Tams. When he failed to get a second letter, he blamed them. Eventually, he realized there were other girls. But he kept the letter. 

And when it came time for him to strike out on his own, he became a peace officer so that he could see for himself some of the things that River had read about. 

Gideon looked at the picture again. How much can a person change in three years? Sometimes charges were left off of warrants by carelessness. Not repeatedly, though. It wasn't until the fifth warrant that a charge was attached: mass murder on Ariel. Gideon thought about River's long, graceful fingers. Did they belong to the hands of a killer? 

The best part off Gideon's job was that it gave him long hours by himself to think. About a school that no one had ever heard of before. About the shuttered faces of River's parents. About a first kiss. For the fifth time, he deleted the warrant instead of filing it. 

River had loved stars. She was always setting up complicated telescope arrangements and begging her parents to take her on a shuttle trip so that she could see them unmasked by the lights of Capital City or the atmosphere of Osiris. There were a lot of stars in the black. Millions of them between him and River Tam. Gideon hoped it would always stay that way. 

The End 


	3. Untitled Drabble 3

Disclaimer: Firefly and its characters belong to Twentieth Century FOX, Joss Whedon and a long corporate chain of folk. It (and they) do not belong to me. I'm just playing.  
Archive: Do not archive without permission.

Notes: Written for the ff_friday drabble community weekly challenge on live journal. The community allows works to be up to 1000 words long. That week's challenge was change. Hee, hee, hee, this is a wingfic. taraljc threatened anyone who wrote a _Firefly_ wingfic with dire fates so of course I had to write one and dedicate it to her. 

River's screams in the night rarely lasted for long. Before you were even fully awake, they'd stop, and you'd roll back over certain that Simon was taking care of her. Sometimes you'd hear her shouting, but that was no big deal. Just a part of the sounds of Serenity, like the rattle of a catwalk or the hum of the engine. 

Then one night the screams go on. They don't stop. You sit up and your husband does, too. You bite your lip to keep from telling him to wait here, and you both get dressed in silence. You pick up a gun, and he does, too. He can shoot. You know he can shoot. You taught him how in between jobs. It's a change, and you don't like it, but you bite your lip. Change happens and you just have to go with it. 

You open the door cautiously. The screams are on the move. River is on the move. They don't move too far, and you relax and put your gun away. Your husband gives you a puzzled look. "Infirmary," you say. Must just be a bad night. 

"Poor kid," Wash says. You nod. Poor kid. Poor River. Poor Simon. 

The screams stop. Simon must have doped her. Wash takes your gun and disappears back into your bunk. You think he's going back to sleep, but you feel restless now. Maybe you'll walk the ship, see if the doc needs anything. You're surprised when Wash's arms settle around you and he kisses the back of your neck. He snuck up on you. That doesn't happen often, and you're disgusted for a moment and a little unsettled. Inattention can get you killed. Then you remember that you're not on the job and the war is over. You lean back against your husband and nuzzle his neck. He smells good. Clean. Trustworthy. 

You remember Zoe that was. The wild one. The youngest child who liked to run and play ball more than read a book. She was loved, even if her parents didn't quite understand it. They understood her sister, the future scientist. Zoe came home one day to find her sister crying brokenly in front of the house. "They closed the university," she said. "They took my research away." 

Mal never asked why you joined. Mal was more inclined to wonder why people didn't join. Mal also never asked why you stayed with him. You never forgot the look on your sister's face. That's why you joined. And you never forgot your inability to help your sister. That's why you stayed. At the end, at Serenity Valley, Mal had that look. 

There is another Zoe that was. One who learned to be quiet, to keep her head down, to sit still for hours in the mud. Her parents would have been surprised. "Not my little whirlwind," dad would have said with a smile. It was a hard change, but you got used to it. 

There are two Zoes, and they have yet to reach an agreement. It'd be easier to be Mal's Zoe. Wash complicates things. You remember other ways of being. Uncertainties. 

At night in your bunk he makes you laugh, and you don't care which Zoe you are: the child, the young woman or something new. You are you, and you like to laugh. 

You walk down toward the infirmary with his arms around you and he tells you that he's bringing River some of his dinosaurs. "She likes them," he says. "I think." He shrugs. "She steals them a lot." His arms are strong enough to hug the entire 'verse. 

When you get to the infirmary there is blood, and River is lying on her stomach. Simon is stitching together torn skin on her back. You look and you can't believe your eyes. "Is it just me or are those wings?" Wash asks. River's head turns. She is drugged, but not out. Wash puts a dinosaur in her hand. It's a big one, long-tailed. Megalosaurus. You know it's his favorite. 

You look at him, and there it is again. Love. For a moment you can't breathe. Change is worth it. 

You kneel down so River can see your eyes. Searching for words. You use words sparingly. You trace the tip of a wing with your finger. You can see she's frightened of them. Frightened of herself. "Things change," you say. You wonder if she is reading your mind. You hope she is. "People change. They're just wings. We all grow them at some point." 

The End 


	4. Untitled Drabble 4

Disclaimer: Firefly and its characters belong to Twentieth Century FOX, Joss Whedon and a long corporate chain of folk. It (and they) do not belong to me. I'm just playing.  
Archive: Do not archive without permission.

Notes: Written for the ff_friday drabble community weekly challenge on live journal. The community allows works to be up to 1000 words long. That week's challenge was desire. 

A cacophonous silence followed Mal's words. 

Then Inara was standing, stumbling, leaving as quickly as she could, her eyes bright, her movements not quite graceful. 

"You don't deserve her," Simon spat. 

Mal shrugged. "Never said different," he answered. His voice was emotionless, indifferent. 

"Then let her go," Simon said. "Let her go." 

"She don't answer to me," Mal said. "I never asked her for anything." 

"Right, Mal," Simon said. "Damn you. How can you stand there and pretend this isn't about you? Do you know how much it kills me to see her cry? You push and you pull at her until she doesn't know which way is up. And then when she gives in, you blow cold again. But when someone else has a chance with her, a real chance, you've got to make it ugly." 

Mal slammed his mug down and rose. "I think you'd best remember who's in charge here. I'm the captain! I won't be talked to that way on my own ship." 

Simon continued on perilously. "You selfish chžnrŽn, she deserves better. The second someone fails to live up to your expectations you turn on them. Even God couldn't live up to your expectations, isn't that right, Captain?" In Simon's mouth the title was a curse. 

Mal looked down dangerously on Simon. "You don't want to go there, boy." 

By this time Simon was standing as well. "You think you can put me in my place by calling me boy? You think you can shut me up? You'll have to do better than that, Captain. A thousand people die every day, Captain, horribly, unfairly. A thousand people _lose_ every day. You're a smart man, Captain, so I bet you knew that. You knew that, and you still believed. But let something happen to you, and suddenly there's no God. Did you think you were special?" 

Mal's fist sent Simon tumbling backward, his head slamming into the bulkhead. Blood leaked from his nose. Mal gaped, as shocked as everyone else by what he'd done. "You make me sick," Simon whispered. "Tianna, you don't even love her. You're nothing but a petty, jealous child. You wouldn't treat her like this if I didn't want her." Simon wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "And I do, Mal. I could make her happy. If you give me a chance." 

"I'm not jealous of you," Mal snapped. 

"Made, Mal," Simon said, holding up his hand to show off the blood. "Then what's this all about? Anytime I start to get close to her, you get in the way. It's not jealousy? Fine, then what is it? What is it you want? What is it you desire?" 

Mal sighed, and turned away, his hands clenched fists at his side. The walls seemed to be closing around him; he couldn't breathe. His words were soft, barely audible. "You," he said. Simon froze. "What?" 

Mal bent his head. "I'm not jealous of you; I'm jealous of her." 

The End 


	5. When Spring Is Being Born

Written for the Pucker Up mini-challenge ( The characters and world of Firefly/Serenity belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century FOX, Universal Pictures and a bunch of other people I'm sure, none of which are me. 

To be alone, when Spring is being born/ One should be dead--or suddenly grown old. (Caroline Giltinan, "Alone in Spring)

Inara's hands are sticky with gluten from making tong yuen for Dong Zhi. It is technically winter again, though it hardly matters.

Spring never comes to Serenity. Time passes, but seasons do not. On planetfalls which number fewer than ever, there is rarely time for looking at new buds and hopeful growth. No one will work with them now. Malcolm Reynolds is cursed, the gossip says. For all Mal plays at being a criminal, he has long kept a mental hierarchy of lines he would not cross. It injures something in him to steal from those who can't afford it. So Simon spends protracted hours taking the place of people like Fanty and Mingo, finding Alliance targets, digging for pass codes and blueprint specs. The one time Mal came back from using River's talents to blackmail a petty cog, face drawn and nauseous, Inara told him it was time to increase her rent. She drowned his protest with a clipped rebuke, "You're no good to us if you break."

He appreciated her practicality, but that was the end of anything between them. He hates the way she makes her money, hates more to admit that he needs her not to stop. For her part, Inara needs things that time has drained from Mal.

Simon buries his face in his hands as River and Kaylee start whispering into each other's ears, hands clasped, placing quick teasing kisses behind earlobes and along jaw lines. Inara laughs at him, smiling indulgently. She knows he is bothered far more by the idea of his younger sister in a relationship than by his former lover's defection. He scowls at her amusement, blue eyes dancing, though. "Get me out of here," he mouths.

Blue eyes have always been her weakness.

She washes her hands quickly and takes his, pulling him away from the table and the lounge They never kiss in the corridors. It only took one time, one, of Zoe coming along and swallowing hard before hurrying away without a word for them never to kiss in public again. There is one planetfall that Serenity manages regularly no matter how short they are on fuel and time, or how pursued by enemies and feds. Inara keeps a dedicated stash of incense for just those visits. It was River who chose and planted the right greenery to brighten the spot without consistent maintenance. Left to the rest of them it would have been sentimentality: sweet flag, token of comrades, but River said calamus needed marshes to grow beside.

Sometimes Inara worries about how easy it is for Simon to wait for hidden nooks and concealed alcoves.

But then they are in their space. A forgotten sleeper up the ladder in the third tier of the passenger dorms, and she wonders how she could ever think it was easy for him as his mouth trembles against hers and his warm hands cup her jaw. Tianna, everyone should know kisses like this. Tongues rasping against each other, creating quivering ripples of arousal that pool in her belly and the balls of her feet. She is no stranger to kissing, but this melting relinquishment is new. They kiss and kiss and kiss until neither of them knows where she and he stop and the other begins.

She thinks this is what it is Mal imagines she pretends to sell, as if she had even known such a thing existed before Simon.

Mal and Zoe share a bunk now, She has no name for the thing between them, neither philia nor eros, beyond them both. It is not what she would want, but she thinks that neither one of them wants more. Their hearts are both buried elsewhere. And if their relationship is about something besides love, or at least, a type of love she doesn't understand, that is their affair.

"Where are you?" Simon whispers against her cheek, eyelashes fluttering against her skin.

She leans against his shoulder, angling her mouth upward. "I love you," she says.

Brown eyes, liquid, dark and needing, are his weakness, she thinks. His expression sharpens at her words, greedy and wanting, as his mouth moves to snare her lower lip, sucking gently on it, until her own mouth grows insistent, tired of waiting. He, too, has not been unmarked by this last year.

She wonders where Simon learned to kiss like this, and how it ever ended. She could not give it up.

It was Simon who brought a small gardenia tree back to the ship as a gift for Inara. For her clients, she may wear jasmine, garoo wood, juniper or cloves and cinnamon, but for Simon alone it is always gardenia. Even with artificial gravity, plants do not do well in space, and gardenias are worse than most, native to humidity and acidic soil. But they are evergreens, constant and true, steadfast, season after season. Inara does not know if that is what Simon meant, but it is what she takes away from the gift that needs constant coddling.

Simon buries his face in the crook of her neck, taking full deep breaths and leaving endearments in return. Inara has no need to search for new green leaves or tilt toward restless suns. Spring travels with her, no matter the season.

Finis


End file.
